Silent Torment
by Jessica C Potter
Summary: Sequel to Silent Tears CH5 It's a year after her death. A mysterious woman, an alternate universe, and a Hogwarts ruled by Voldemort. What's Ron doing there? And how is Harry supposed to get back home alive? Be careful what you wish for, Harry...R/R!
1. Fallen Angels, Wishes from the Heart

One night, my best friend Crissy (ObSeSsIvE_cOmPuLsIvE_666) and I put our heads together for an elaborated plot to my sequel.  Well, here it is!  As it happens, we've figured out our main jobs in this:  Crissy is the Plot Think-Upper, and I am the Plot Elaborator/Write-Downer.  Nice titles, huh?  Crissy thought of them…  The plot is extremely different from what I've ever seen, except for the fact that it's the classic:  "I wish I had never been born, have pity on me!"  But it only starts out like that, so give us your opinions once you've figured it out.  Only one warning…this fic will possibly have very little comic relief and even less romance.  If any, it will still be rather cynical.  Thankies!

Hello again, Ron Luver.  Jeez, first you, now H/H lover.  GAAAWD.  No one agrees with my ships around here, do they?  *sigh*  Personally, my love for the H/C ship is dwindling…as you will see in this fic…There isn't any actual R/A snogging in this one, except for the mild innuendoes… err, yeah.  I'm sorry…*meep*  One more thing, since you are my favourite reviewer by far (yes, I AM sucking up, for those of you who were wondering *grin*), I'd like to talk to you.  E-mail address, by any chance?  AOL Instant Messenger, preferably.  Thankies!

Shinigami-chan:  Hello, to you too!  I feel so loved…*happy tear*  No, honestly, all kidding aside, I got the HUGEST chills when I read that review!!!  Thank you SO MUCH!!!  You know what, hell with that 100 reviews thing. (Sorry, Tiff.)  Silent Torment is hereby dedicated to Shinigami-chan who made me feel so special and important!  That review meant, like, about 500,000 to me!!!  THANK YOU!!!  Erm, right, I'm going a bit overboard now, but I mean it when I say I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!!!  oO;  Oh, yeah, and about that question, let's just say that Draco ran his little ass off back to the castle after he woke up when he realised that his father was gone, and in all the worries and woes of our favourite Gryffindors, he was forgotten.  In truth, I kinda forgot about him myself, so here's my excuse. *glurp*  

Right, well, here's the long-awaited Silent Torment!  Toodles!  *takes an extremely flourished, highly over-done bow as the curtain closes over*

Silent Torment

Part I:

Fallen Angels, Wishes Well Thought

_My Dearest Harry,_

_I'm not very good at writing love letters, so I beg that you'll forgive my bluntness.  I'm sure you are aware that I am graduating after this year.  I regret to say this, but I think that until you graduate yourself, we should see different people.  I am not proposing that we break up, quite the contrary in fact, but the truth remains that our ages are a year in difference.  Please forgive me for suggesting this.  I merely want what is best for both of us.  You will always have a special place in my heart._

_Yours forever and a day,_

_Cho Chang_

Harry crumpled up the letter after rereading it for the sixth time since breakfast and sighed, staring out the common room window.  The dusky purple of the April sky was scattered with diamonds, and the crescent moon shone like a silver dagger, penetrating the gathering storm clouds with its icy light.  He wondered briefly what it would be like on the moon staring down at the Earth.  Probably like it was now: wrapped in cold, enveloped in darkness, the only light on the horizon a tiny glimmer in a vast universe of torment.  He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily.  He should have known, from that very first kiss on Christmas night, that this would be too good to last….

Harry gazed around absently at the rest of the Gryffindors.  Everyone had been rather subdued all year, not only because Fred and George had left, but because of the recent death of Ginny Weasley.  Hermione was keeping to herself, her head bent over a book.  She raised her head up suddenly, saw Harry looking at her, and quickly dropped her gaze again.  Ron lay on a couch near the fire, dozing with his arm around his fifth year girlfriend, Alex Prelling, who was snuggled next to him, sleeping peacefully in the safety of his embrace, her hair cascading down in dark tumbles over her face.  

Harry averted his eyes from this sight to stare instead at the letter from his over two-year girlfriend that was still clenched in his fist.

I can't believe that we let it get this far…how could our age difference matter this much to her?

Harry had no one to unburden his heart to; Hermione seemed to think she wasn't wanted, Draco appeared to think that since their telepathy bond had been broken that they were no longer friends, and Ron was too preoccupied with his girlfriend, not to mention the fact that he hadn't completely gotten over the fact that his sister was dead, so he had his own problems to deal with.  Alex and her best friends Michelle Wilson and Crissy Rizzotto were moving back to the United States at the end of the year, which would be quite a loss since Alex and Michelle were both valuable Quidditch players; from what Harry had experienced playing Slytherin, he thought ruefully, so was Crissy.  Needless to say, Ron was making the most of Alex's last few months at Hogwarts.  After that, he would be single again, much to the delight of several girls from various Houses [This means you, Ron Luver].  He wasn't the only one with an American girlfriend, however; Draco was very content Crissy.  They had been seen—or rather heard—by several unsuspecting passers-by whom walked past a supposedly empty classroom in between classes.

As for Sirius, he had plenty to deal with at the moment.  Ever since his name had been cleared, he had been working around the clock to regain a stable reputation in the wizarding world—and the adoption papers for Harry.  At least one good thing had come from all this: As of late July, Harry would have a real family once again.

But this wonderful prospect couldn't banish the darkness that had taken up residence in his soul since the past year.  Everywhere he walked, death and chaos seemed to follow.  How was it that he was always the cause of trouble?  He had ruined so many lives, and he was only sixteen…

Absent-mindedly, he grasped the delicate silver chain around his neck and rolled the small silvery orb between his fingers.  It was cool to the touch, and seemed to have some sort of calming affect over him.  The magic that flowed from it in waves soothed his troubled spirit and strengthened him, but it just wasn't enough…it only reminded him of his parents…

The noise of the common room was getting to him, stifling him.  He needed to be alone…but more than that, he needed answers.  Making up his mind, he stood up, hurling the parchment from his fist into the fire.  He watched the flames devour the paper, curl its edges into ashes, consume it completely… 

He strode sharply and purposefully to the portrait hole.  Just as he was pushing it open, he felt a small, warm hand on his shoulder.

It was Hermione.  She had finally put her book down and had reached up from the chair she was sitting on.  Her eyes were shining brightly, and she was biting her lip.  When she spoke, her voice came out a tremor.

"Harry…where are you going?" she asked quietly.

Harry couldn't bring himself to take his eyes away from hers…they were such beautiful eyes, strange that he hadn't noticed before…

Steeling himself, he answered her in a brusque voice.

"For a walk," he replied shortly.  Stepping away from her outstretched arm before she could say another word, he walked out of the Gryffindor common room to the school beyond.  He didn't notice the look on Hermione's face when he did.

*********

She watched him go with a mixture of pity and sadness in her heart.  She loved him, loved him so much it pained her to look at him.  It tore her apart inside to see him so depressed, so alone… She wanted to talk to him, but something was holding her back…her inner self, maybe, but somehow…no, that wasn't the case.  It was just too much to bear sometimes, she couldn't think straight or decide anything rationally.  And just watching Ron and Alex together made her want to…well, we won't get into that.

Finally, she gave up the difficult task of sorting through her complex emotions and settled for watching the flickering flames, where Cho's letter had been reduced to ashes.

**********

Harry walked around the school without comprehending where he was going.  He aimlessly ambled this way and that, down this corridor and the next without any real destination.  For some reason, he had the strongest desire to lose himself and never find it again.

Passing by a dark and empty classroom, he had the unfortunate luck of stumbling upon one of Draco and Crissy's private make-out classes.  And when we say private, we mean private.

Harry froze on the spot and listened.  Sure enough, thumps, girlish squeals, and gasps were audible through the partly-closed door.  Then suddenly, they stopped.

"Potter, if you're going to stand there and take notes, please, next time, do it in a more unobtrusive way.  It's distracting."

Harry rolled his eyes and pushed the door open the rest of the way.  Very Big Mistake.

He almost passed out.

Draco was sitting upright on the desk, but shirtless.  However, this was nothing to the state Crissy was in.

She was also topless, and leaning against Draco's chest with a very content gleam in her eyes.  Her jeans were half off as well.

Cautiously, Harry made his way across the room, narrowly avoiding slipping on Draco's and Crissy's discarded shirts.

"Malfoy, that is just sick," he said in repugnance, kicking the clothing aside.  "Doesn't the word 'abstinence' mean anything to you?"

Draco batted a long silver eyelash at him.  "Never even heard the word," he said cheerfully.  Harry rolled his eyes again.  "Hey, don't blame me for the fact that I get action and you don't," Malfoy said disdainfully.  Crissy giggled.  Harry chose to ignore these remarks.

"Don't you have a dormitory that you can shag in?" Harry asked in annoyance, adding emphasis to the word that Malfoy seemed to miss.

"Yes, I do," Malfoy returned patiently, "but it happens to be overrun by other party animals." 

Harry wrinkled his nose in displeasure.  The silence was then only broken by Crissy saying in a soft, manipulative voice, "Do let's not waste anymore time, Draco…we haven't got much longer before we need to return to the common room…"

"Alright, love, just give me another second to get rid of Potter," he returned just as softly, brushing his lips against her forehead.  She shivered delightedly, a purr echoing from deep within her throat.

"Oh, don't mind me," Harry said unwisely, his voice heavy with sarcasm.  "Just carry on with what you were doing.  It was quite appealing."

"Really?  It was?" Draco replied earnestly, though in a somewhat distracted air, for his mouth had now travelled down to lace around Crissy's neck.  She lifted her arms slowly and strung them around his, pulling him closer to her.

"Thank you for that interesting display of emotions," Harry griped.

"You're welcome," Draco opined in a singsong sort of voice, glancing at Harry out of the corner of his eyes, which were narrowed into a sardonic grin.  "I see you're still here, by the way," he commented non-too-angelically.  "Still taking notes, are you?"

"Oh, yes," Harry returned dryly.  "I think it'll be a book titled Trousers, or Lack There Of, by Draco Malfoy."

"Your wit is about as small and shrivelled as certain other parts of you appear to be, Potter," Crissy simpered wickedly between bites before Draco could retort, causing Harry to blush approximately the colour of a tomato.

Fuming, Harry turned on his heel and stalked through the door, slamming it shut behind him.  As he walked away, the sounds of satisfied laughter followed him faintly through the halls.  Still seething as he stomped through the corridors, he thought, Exactly what was the point of that conversation?  Ah yes, he reflected, To annoy me further about my virginity.  Well, he succeeded.

Through the bleary haze of anger and frustration, he thrust open the enormous oak front doors and trudged across the grounds outside.

He walked over to the edge of the lake.  Glancing upward, he saw the boiling black storm clouds rolling over the horizon to block out the icy light of the stars and moon, bringing with it a hint of thunder in the air.  Something about the approaching storm roused something that had been long since dormant in his heart…

Still gazing raptly at the storm clouds, a strong wind began to pick up, blowing his already shaggy hair back from his face.  Reaching absently to the silver chain around his neck, as soon as his fingers made contact, he saw something, something eerie and unsettling that flashed before his eyes.

He saw his parents.  Except they were not as he had imagined them.  He imagined them mournful, constantly in tears, faces haggard and drawn from pain.  These faces were healthy, full of life.  Lily and James Potter sat at a table that was presumably in a kitchen, for in their hands they held mugs of coffee—and they looked quite old.  What bothered him most was that they were laughing—living a full and happy life—without him.

In that instant, he forgot all the good he had done in the world—forgot about the four times of defeating the Dark Lord, forgot all the evil he had prevented.  The only thought that went through his mind was that if it weren't for him, his parents and so many others would still be alive….

His fingers closed spasmodically around his mother's silver orb.  Instinctively, he wrenched it loose from the chain, and felt the silver snap in two around his neck.  The tiny ball was glowing, the magic pulsing within it.  He  gazed for long moments at the orb, before raising it over his head.

"What do you mean?" he shouted in frustration, and hurled it to the ground.

There was a blinding flash of crackling lightning, and a tremendous boom of thunder.  Bright orange and blue flames, living and dancing, encircled him, obscured his vision, but he didn't feel the heat that should have been radiating from it…

Through the haze, he sensed movement.  A figure was gliding across the lake.  Just beyond the wall of fire, Harry saw that it was a woman…the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.  He started to yell at her to stop, for she was about to walk straight through the blaze…and walk through it she did.

Harry's mouth sagged.  How was this possible?  Unless she was some sort of demon, perhaps…the woman was now right in front of him, close enough for him to see her more clearly.  This woman was dressed in sleeveless robes of austere, blinding white that clung to a very womanly figure.  The milky white of her skin contrasted sharply with her ebony black hair that whipped behind her back in the gale.  Her pale face was heart-shaped and her eyebrows were perfectly shaped over large, luminous eyes of deep brown, almost gold in a way, and somewhat slanted.  Her lush, red, cupid-bow lips were curled into a contemptuous smile.

"Hello, Harry Potter," she said to him in a low, echoing, kind voice that betrayed the disdainful expression on her face.  She continued to approach him, slowly, until she was so close to him he could feel her soft breath on his cheeks.  She was quite tall, a whole head taller than him, and he was one of the tallest in his year.  The woman then lifted a long, elegant hand and placed the tips of the long-nailed fingers under his chin.  Despite the flames from which she had appeared, her skin was icy cold.  Harry shivered as she raised his head to peer into his eyes.

"How very much like your father you look, Harry," she commented, her golden brown eyes grazing his face like a touch.  Then behind the gold flitted an amber hue, and he found himself caught in the gaze, helpless like an insect imprisoned in viscous resin.  "Though you have your mother's lovely green eyes."

These words jolted Harry back to his senses.  Drawing in a sharp breath, he asked slowly, "You knew my parents?"

"Of course I knew your parents," she replied at once, as though this were an obvious answer.  "Or rather, I know them."

"Know them?" Harry echoed sceptically, "They're dead."

"Of course they're dead," she alleged equably, still searching his face.  He jerked away from her outstretched hand and took several paces backward, though careful to keep plenty of space between him and the strange fire, eyeing her distrustfully.

"Who are you?  And how did you know my parents?"

The woman gave him a mysterious smile.  "My name is much too precious to be uttered upon mortal ears," she began in a voice dripping contempt.  "Though you may call me Crysania.  And I know them because I hold the past, present, and future in my mind.  I see them as they were, as they are…and as they would be."

Harry blinked.  "Alright…Crysania.  Are you some sort of angel, then?" he asked, noting how her hair still fanned behind her, the aura of light she emitted, the stark white of her robes, and the echoing quality of her voice.  Crysania's lips curled again.

"A fallen one, maybe," she said lightly.  "Though it may be because I don't play fairly." 

"How so?" Harry asked with mounting unease.  He wanted to escape back to the castle, for he could sense the storm drawing ever-nearer, but the wall of fire that surrounded him wouldn't allow it.

"I will let you see what you want, but only for a price."

"Who says I wanted to see anything?" Harry asked in defiance.

"I know what you want, Harry," she said.  "You want to change the world.  Am I right?"

Harry didn't trust himself to meet her gaze.  Instead, he lowered his eyes and stared at the ground.  "I wish," he whispered, his voice most unlike his own, "that I had never been born."

Crysania's eyes glittered in approval.  "How predictable you are, Harry Potter," she said in a derisive voice.  "How very predictable.  You shall have your wish."

********

Okay, chapter one down.  I know, I know, that was "very predictable," but that's pretty much as cliché as it's gonna get.  Really short, wasn't it?  Yeah, I know, I lied.  There was a lot more humour and romance in this than I had planned, but that's pretty much all there's gonna be for now.  Right, well, people have so far disagreed with all of my ships except for that Hermione/Draco one from Silent Tears.  With my luck, I'll get my ass kicked for this Crissy/Draco one.  Oh well.  You can please some of the people some of the time, but not all of the people all of the time, right?  Next chapter will be more suspenseful and unexpected, okies?  See you next time!


	2. A Dose of Reality

YES!!!  _Now, _the fun begins…

And Sapphie, I told you, I dedicated Silent Tears to you.  I still love you…I promise…*random coughing is heard in background*  Whaaat?  

People, I am DESPERATELY in need of reviews here.  I've only got 3…*big puppy dog eyes*  I don't really see the point if only three people have read this.

Silent Torment

Part II:

A Visit to Godric's Hollow

Harry woke suddenly, feeling cold and very sleepy.  His limbs were heavy to lift and he ached all over.  He reached for his blanket, only to find it out of his reach.  Frowning and mumbling sleepily, he rolled over and opened his eyes.  He gasped.

Above him, clouds chased each other back and forth over a depressingly black sky.  He could see no stars, and could not otherwise tell if it was night or day.  Utterly bewildered, he felt around on the surface upon which he had slept to discover that he was lying on cold, hard grass.

His mind raced frantically.  How did he get out here?  Out of habit, Harry reached for the silver chain he always wore around his neck, only to discover, to his horror and dismay, that it had broken, and the orb was gone.

Then, as if his memory was on fast-forward, he remembered everything—the storm—the fire—and _Crysania—_

He sat up quickly and looked around.  The castle of Hogwarts was nowhere to be seen.

Then suddenly, his scar burst with an acute, extreme pain.  He moaned and covered his face with his hands, running his fingers over his scar—yet to find, with a sharp spasm of panic, that it wasn't there—

"Ah, I see you've finally woken up," a deep, amused voice purred from behind him.  Harry whipped around. 

There was Crysania.  She was lounging elegantly upon a long black fainting couch, propped up on an elbow.  But then, everything she did was elegant.  Her white robes pulled up from her long, graceful legs.  Harry noticed, with a queer twist of his stomach, that the bodice of her robes had fallen down rather farther than he cared to see of this strange woman.  Indeed, had he craned his neck properly, he would have been able to see straight down the front.  But, being the gentleman that he was, he resisted the temptation.  She must have noticed that he was straining himself, because she stretched luxuriously, and her robes fell away completely from her legs.  Harry felt himself flush, cursing himself for his wearing his thoughts splayed all over his face, and knew that she was taunting him because of it.  

"Where…why don't I have my scar anymore?" he asked, hoping to take his mind off anything to do with lack of clothing.

Crysania looked at him from under her long black eyelashes, her golden catlike eyes laughing at him.  "I granted your wish," she said simply, lazily examining a glass of blood-red wine that had materialized out of nowhere into her grasp.

Harry goggled at her, spluttering incoherently.

"I—what—I didn't wish for anything!" he finally choked out.

Crysania's lips curled.  "You are so cute," she cooed, with the effect of turning Harry an even brighter red.  "Though do close your mouth.  That is less cute.  There, thank you.  Now, of course you made a wish."  Here, she paused, and took a sip of her red wine.  She sighed, setting it down, where it hovered in mid-air.  "Ahem.  I quote:  'I wish that I had never been born.'  So, I thought you'd like to see how your parents were doing without you."

"My…my _parents?"_ Harry felt dazed.  Too much was happening too fast…

He twisted around again to get a better look at his surroundings.  He was sitting in the middle of a large front lawn of dead, brown grass, where bare trees were scattered here and there.  Behind a low, wrought-iron gate stood a large house.  It was listlessly black, like the sky above it, and its windows were dark and empty.  The whole building had a sad, weary look about it, the roof drooping, the front steps sagging.  It looked very old, almost medieval.  It was hard to believe that anyone actually lived in it.  In front of the house was a small wooden sign that swung in the cold breeze, resembling a tombstone, also black, that read: Godric's Hollow.  At the sight of the sign, he broke into a cold sweat.  

"Well?  Are you going to say hello, or are you just going to sit there gawking with that adorable choir boy face of yours?"

Harry blinked and snapped his mouth shut yet again.  He faltered.  What would he say to two people that didn't know him, especially when he told him he knew them?  Even when he didn't, really…

Before he had made up his mind, he stood up without a backward glance as his legs took him, off their own accord, it seemed, to the gate that wrapped around the derelict house.  The gate swung open with a touch of his hand, and he slowly trudged up the path to the door.  He climbed up the creaking stairs; then he numbly stretched out his hand and rang the doorbell, and waited.

********                                                                            

She was twisting the silver ring she always wore on her left middle finger nervously.  He knew that she only did this when she was undergoing severe pressure or an internal battle.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked her.  She didn't look at him, only continued to twist her ring.  Then she drew in a deep breath.

"Yes.  There's something I need to tell you."  She was still avoiding his gaze.

"What is it?  You can tell me," he said to her, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder.  But she flinched under his touch as if it had been a blow, a slow blush creeping over her already pink cheeks.  She hung her head.

"Ron…I'm pregnant," she said quietly.

There was a stunned silence.  A silence so thick you could have cut through it with a knife.

"You're…you're WHAT?" Ron burst out.

"Hmm?  What is it?" Alex muttered sleepily, jerking awake.  Ron's heartbeat slowed again, and he sucked in a long breath.  It was only a dream…

"Is there something wrong, Ron?" she asked him drowsily, rolling over in his arms so she could see his face.  He looked at her.

"You're not…pregnant, by any chance, are you?" he said lamely, wincing.

"No…" Alex answered, giving him a rather patronizing look.  "I'm only fifteen, Ron.  I wouldn't be able to handle it."

"I suppose not…but…"

"But what?  What did you do, Ron," she said accusingly.

"Me?  I didn't do anything!  I mean, I was dreaming, and…"

"Dreaming?  Of me, I suppose?" said Alex, still suspicious.

"Yes, about you," he returned ironically.  "You were wearing nothing but spandex, and I woke up feeling strangely…"

"Okay, I get the point.  Though I wouldn't put a dream like that past you."  She grinned at him.  Then, as she was feeling rather like teasing Ron, she took hold of one of his hands and caressed it gently.

"I love your hands," she whispered seductively, running her fingers over his palm.

"Oh, and that's all you love about me, is it?" Ron said, feigning hurt feelings.  She only smiled. 

"They're just so big and rough and…they have nails bitten down to the quick," she observed.

"Hey, I'm sorry that I can't have great bloody cat claws like you.  Not everyone's perfect," he added.

"Oh, so you're saying that I am?" she asked pleasantly, pulling his hand up and resting it on her cheek.  He let out a soft sigh, running his fingers through her hair.

"Yes."  And he kissed her, the memory of the dream discarded in that instant.  He relaxed even further when her hands slid over his back…

_Oh, dear,_ Hermione thought despairingly.  _They're at it again_.  She rolled her eyes as the two on the couch came dangerously close to toppling over the edge in their heat, all the while snogging passionately in a way that was probably illegal in Britain, let alone Hogwarts.   

Then, Ron broke off the kiss, breathing unnaturally heavily.  Hermione gritted her teeth as Alex's cooing voice floated across the common room, "What's the matter?  Getting tired up there, big guy?"  As she said it, her eyes flicked toward Hermione.  Alex was sweet, yes, but at times like these, Hermione could only wonder if this was a desperate attempt to make her jealous of what she didn't have.  Oh, she hated her sometimes…

"I'm only just getting started, love," came Ron's reply, causing Hermione to feel slightly nauseous.  She watched—alright, so she _was _jealous—as Alex sank out of sight among the extremely squashy cushions.  It now looked as though Ron were making love to the couch itself.  The only hint that there was someone underneath him was the two slender hands that made their appearance at frequent intervals.  But even then were they more often than not disappearing beneath his shirt and trousers.

Soon people began throwing wadded up pieces of parchment at them, irritably yelling various things all along the lines to, "Get a room!"  Unfazed, the two coolly ignored them.  Hermione sighed and gathered up her books.  She might as well get to the library before shirts started flying.  And where was Harry?

***********

Harry's heart pounded as he heard footsteps inside the house.  He couldn't move; he stayed frozen on the spot.  Then the doorknob turned.  The door creaked opened.

Through the crack in the door, Harry could see a tall man of his mid-forties with jet-black hair flecked with grey peering cautiously outside, his wand in his hand.  Behind his glasses were large eyes of chocolate brown that held a lost look, as if he had been searching for something for ages, but something that could never be found.  The eyes roved the area in front of him, a suspicious expression contorting his face.  Harry caught his breath.

"_Dad?"_ he whispered.  The man did not look at him, or even acknowledge his presence.  He merely raised an eyebrow.

"Who's there?" James Potter called, the suspicion growing.  He glanced warily around the dead yard.

"Who is it, James?" came a hushed, feminine voice.  A strawberry blonde woman, also in her mid-forties, came to stand next to her husband.   "James?"  James said nothing.  He only opened the door farther, the better to see.

"No one there," he said quietly to his wife.  He glanced down at her.  

"We should go inside.  It isn't safe out here," she whispered to him.  She raised her left hand and rested it on his shoulder.  As her sleeve pulled back, Harry, who was too dumb-founded to speak, glimpsed something on the inner portion of her arm that made his heart contract.

The Dark Mark.  

Her husband hesitated.  Lily pulled on his arm.  "Come James.  I'll make you some tea."  After one last, frantic look outside, James followed his wife back into the house.  The door closed behind them with a snap.

The sharp, abrupt noise brought him back to his senses.  Gazing dazedly around, he walked away and back to Crysania.  Taking one look at his face, she grinned widely and said, in an innocent voice that couldn't hide the oily contempt, "Oh, dear.  It seems that I forgot that they wouldn't be able to hear or see you.  My apologies.  It must've slipped my mind…"

"You…you…" Harry gasped.  "You…set me up…!  You must be some kind of demon…I didn't wish for this…I just wanted—"

"You wanted your parents to be alive.  And they are." 

"But they—"

"They are agents of the Dark Lord.  As they would be, had you never been born."

"But…they can't possibly be Death Eaters…"

"Oh, but they are.  You saved them from this fate, in their deaths."

There was a stunned silence, in which Crysania drained her glass of red wine, sighed, and rose from the couch.

"Do you want me to take you back to Hogwarts?" she asked him in vexation.  Harry nodded sullenly.  Crysania's grin widened, and she rose to her feet, the couch vanishing.  

"As you wish," she said, bowing sardonically, and straightened up, raising a hand.  

The house and their surroundings vanished in a swirl of silvery smoke.

********

Harry blinked, trying to clear his vision through the gloom.  There, just beyond the whirling smoke, was Hogwarts.  Relief—warm, glorious relief—washed over him.  Silhouetted against the silvery moonlight, the huge black castle hovered above him on the incline from the grounds.  Forgetting about Crysania, Harry dashed up the sloping lawns, wanting nothing more than to lie down in his warm bed…where everything would be normal again…

Harry didn't notice Crysania's smug, conceited smile.  He didn't notice that Hogwarts did not look like the Hogwarts that he had spent the better part of six years at.  He didn't notice the icy cold over his fevered excitement—

He approached the huge front doors to the castle and frowned.  Two tall, dark hooded figures stood in front of them, guarding the doors, and blocking his path.  As he approached them, they moved together, barring the castle doors.  Harry cleared his throat.

"Um…I need to get into the castle," he said, but it was in a rather weak voice, for the figures, which were undoubtedly Dementors, had lowered their hooded heads in a considerably menacing way.  

"So…do you think you could let me pass?" he suggested timidly.  The Dementors shook their heads.  It would have been rather comical under normal circumstances, but, after seeing his supposedly dead parents and coming back to a home that was guarded unknown to him by twelve-foot-tall soul-sucking hellish minions, his stomach twisted.  His eyes darted downward unwillingly at the grey, rotting hands, and his inexplicable relief dissipated into sickening fear.  He drew a shaking breath.

"I'll just go then, shall I?"  Maybe he would wait outside…someone would see him and come to help him…he backed away, but the Dementors advanced upon him.  He was drowning in cold, a sharp pain wrenching through his chest…but his mother's voice couldn't be heard, it didn't haunt him as it had before….  He reached for his wand, but it wasn't in his pocket….  Unable to comprehend that it was lost, his eyes rolled up into the back of his head, and the last thing he saw were the two tall creatures reaching down to him and pulling him up, leading him inside the castle doors. 

*********

Harry groggily opened his eyes.  He felt dazed and bruised and all around sick.  As his surroundings came into clearer focus, he realized that he was in one of the cells in Snape's dungeon.  He sat up, wincing at the soreness in his muscles and peered around the rest of the dungeon.

Heavy manacles hung from the wall, and the air reeked of rotting flesh.  In the manacles hung a weary, ancient skeleton, its jaw broken, bits of cloth still clinging to the yellowed bones.  Mice and rats scurried this way and that.  He recoiled away from the wall as a sick, yellow liquid dripped from the wall, burning a sizzling hole through the stone in its wake.  The whole place was dank, damp, and glowed with a foreboding, greenish light.  This wasn't the Hogwarts Harry had left behind, he soon realised, with a jolt of terror.  Somehow…Crysania had brought him back to the wrong present time!

"Hey…kid."  A whispered voice jerked him from his panicked thoughts.  He sensed movement in the cell across from him, just beyond the shadows.  A boy of about his age was speaking to him, his head bowed, leaning against the wall.  The boy moved closer to Harry, peering out between the bars.  At first Harry didn't recognise him, but then he gasped as the dim light of the oil lamps struck the boy's face.

"_Ron?_"

*********

*does dramatic dance*  DA NA NA!!!!!   MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!!  I knew you'd love that!  Ha, Ron Luver, you're probably gonna kill me now, aren't ya?  Now, isn't that ironic…you were hoping that Alex would be the one tormented, when really, it's Ron!  HA!!!  I kill me.  Anywhoozles (yes, I'm stealing your word), if you didn't notice, I'm attempting to make Alex look really bad, and I think I'm succeeding, how bout you?  *smirk*  I thought I'd have fun with that, because I'm not going to have much of a chance to poke fun at her.  Yes, you're probably staring at the screen, thinking, "Wait a second, she's making fun of herself!"  Err, yeah I realise that, but…hehe…I just couldn't help myself.  So I do have a little evil side, you got a problem with that?  MUHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!  oO;;; Right, well, it looks like I'm going to have a lot more humour and romance than I anticipated.  The reason why is because I like to switch back and forth between worlds, and I need some extra stuff to take up space.  I know you're all probably getting sick of that R/A thing, but it'll tone down after a while.  Most of the Real World will be in Hermione's POV anyway.  Oh, damn it!  School starts on Tuesday…shit!  That means it's going to take a whole lot longer to get chap 3 out.  Gaah, eighth grade.  What could be any worse?  *grumbles…*  *Evil Glare of Death™ at teachers*  MUHAHAHAHAHA, they don't know what's coming!  Me and Crissy are in the same class, those poor, poor teachers…*smirk*  Well, if I survive the first week of school, then I will be posting more later.  Toodles!  -J


	3. Lost in Darkness

I'm really, really sorry!  I was on MAJOR hiatus for, like, ever!  Oo;;;  Err, yeah.  Well, I mean, between school, two cats, brother, sister, and loving…yeah…best friend, and all the other stuff that has to do with being a teenager (*cough cough* HOT GUY *cough cough*  Crissy:  -_-;;; *HURL*  JCP:  What?  He IS pretty damn hot…*Evil Glare of Death™*).  Anyway, my newfound muses, Mr. Bigglesworth the Evil Cat and Fido the Stupid Siberian Husky Wonder Puppy have faithfully pulled me out of my minor writing jam.  (OB-666 pointedly glares, then subsides into a shunned pout).  *huggles new muses.  More shunned pouting on OB-666's part.*  For those of you who have no idea what the hell I'm talking about, READ MY DAMN BIO!!!!  -_-;  Well, enjoy!

Silent Torment

Part III:

Lost in Darkness                 

_Lost in darkness but blinded by light_

_Desperately I wage a losing fight._

_Tears always pain me but laughter's my fear_

_And I know my soul is a prisoner here._

_Bruised and beaten I'll shed silent tears_

_Of blood and humiliation till the end of my years._

_No one can help me; they'd be fools to try_

_To save something that's torn and empty inside._

_Cursed to live but doomed to die._

_I beg to be buried in a grave of lies._

_For here I am nothing and nothing is me_

_I'm trapped in torment for eternity._

_Bruised and beaten I'll shed silent tears_

_Of blood and humiliation till the end of my years._

_No one can help me; they'd be fools to try_

_To save something that's torn and empty inside._

_Not of the living or dead; I'm trapped in between_

_Where no one can hear my agonized screams._

_Lost in the darkness but blinded by light_

_I give up the battle, _

_I'm broken tonight._

_Bruised and beaten I'll shed silent tears_

_Of blood and humiliation till the end of my years._

_No one can help me; they'd be fools to try_

_To save something that's torn and empty inside_

_Lost in the darkness but blinded by light_

_I give up the battle, _

_I'm broken tonight._

--Author Unknown  (GAAAAAAH!!!  INS'T THAT SO F**KING GOOD?!?!?!  Sorry, Crissy saved it on her computer a while ago and forgot to put the author…if you know who wrote it, email me and I'll fix it…)

Harry's mouth sagged uncontrollably.  He could feel his face paling even further as he stared into the face of his best friend.  

But this wasn't the Ron Weasley that he had known for six years.  The Ron he knew had the dust of the stars in his eyes, always sparkling mischievously, especially, Harry knew, when he looked at Hermione (his insides squirmed rather guiltily at the thought—for he had much the same feelings for her himself).  The Ron he knew had a face that was bright and always full of laughter, each freckle sharply defined upon his glowing face.  But this Ron, this Ron had eyes that were bitter chips of ice, as if he had grown up without love or warmth of any kind, either physical or emotional.   There were dark circles under his eyes, eyes that held no compassion, no recognition.  His fiery hair was now dull and faded, lacking its usual lustre.  The face was tired and strained, as if a smile would shatter its rigid surface into tiny, minuscule pieces.  There were lines of strain etched into his face that Harry knew the seventeen-year-old back at home didn't have.  Which made him all the more speechless…

He felt a cold hand on his shoulder and whipped around.  There was Crysania, and she was wearing the most self-satisfied smirk that you could imagine.  Indeed, Harry thought it should be illegal.  But beside that, his stark-terror was slowly turning into stark-pissed-ness.

"You…you…" he spluttered, not even able to come up with a word that could describe her.  "You…_bitch,_" he finally decided.  

Crysania did not look the least bit fazed.  She merely smiled even wider than before.

"Now, now.  Manners, Harry dear," Crysania amended self-righteously.  

He now realised that Ron was staring at him, his eyebrows raised, the slight concern that had been apparent in his blank-slate face dissipating, only to be replaced by derision.  This unsettled Harry even more.

"I thought you said no one could see us!" Harry hissed at Crysania, earning an even more disdainful glare from Ron…if that was really who he was.

"Listen, are you okay?  When the Creepers threw you in here it looked like you hit your head pretty hard…"

It occurred to Harry that his mouth was still hanging open, and he shut it quickly.  But that didn't stop him from staring.

"Ron…how did you…?" he began weakly, breathing heavily.  Ron raised his eyebrows even higher.

"How do you know my name?" he asked suspiciously. 

"I…Ron…"

"_How do you know my name?_"

"How…it's me, Ron!  Harry…"

There was silence.

"Harry who?" Ron asked, still suspicious.

"Potter!  Oh, come on, stop messing around…"

Ron looked at him, long and hard, as though sizing him up, and like he was sure this was some kind of trick.

"Potter?" he said slowly.  "The Potters didn't have any kids as far as I know…"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.  His mouth was suddenly very dry.

"I _mean,_" Ron snapped irritably, "that Lily and James Potter don't have any _children_."

There was utter silence, broken only by the steady _drip, drip_ of the acrid liquid that dripped from the walls.  Harry's breathing was slow and rasping, his mind whirling with the same confusing questions.  _How…?_

"No…no children?  But how…"  Harry wiped sweat off his forehead, brushing his hand over his scar…that wasn't there.

Another spasm of terror threatened to overwhelm him once again, and he struggled for control.  He sucked in a sharp breath and slowly glanced at Crysania, who merely watched him placidly.  Receiving no help from her, he looked back at Ron, but not really seeing him at all.

"So this means…" he said slowly, more to himself.  "That I'm not alive…"

Ron, meanwhile, was still giving him a look that suggested he was worried about his sanity.  Harry chose to ignore this.  Instead, he asked a question that probably wasn't going to help his situation much.

"Where's Hermione?" he asked quietly, dreading the answer.  His heart sank like a rock at the sight of Ron's expression.

"Hermione who?"

That clinched it.

"Hermione Granger," Harry said, a choking sensation filling his throat, making it difficult to speak.

Slowly, comprehension dawned on Ron's empty face.  Harry was surprised to see a flitting of regret and sadness behind his mirror-like blue eyes.

"Oh," he said quietly.  Then he looked at Harry seriously.  "She died in my first year.  Committed suicide on Halloween."  He looked away, emotion clouding in his eyes.  He took a deep breath and continued, "It was my fault.  I made fun of her too much.  And I…I really…"  Overcome by his emotions, he stared down at the wall.  Slowly, as if loathing to leave its safe confines, a glittering tear trailed over his pale, freckled face, the only colour that Harry had yet seen upon this dismal painting of torment that was his best friend.  Just what he had had to endure all these years, Harry could not even begin to imagine…

"Everything was fine, until my second year.  That was when my sister died."  It took Harry a few moments to realise that Ron was speaking to him again, but those last few words brought him back rather more sharply than they would have normally.  

"Ginny's dead?!" Harry's voice cracked and his head snapped up, causing him to get a crick in his neck.   His head filled with an overwhelming blank buzzing sound that didn't allow room for a voice to penetrate.  The only thing that could be heard was Ron's voice, repeating itself over and over again…_ Committed suicide on Halloween…that's when my sister died…_

Harry glanced up at his best friend, whose eyes were once again narrowed with distrust.  

"I never told you my sister's name—" he began threateningly.  

"Never mind," Harry interrupted quickly, almost recovering.  "Go on."

"The Dark Lord…the Master…he came," Ron continued, still eyeing Harry distrustfully.  "He was searching for new talents.  Talents that could help bring the Dark Side to full power.  But first he had to get rid of Dumbledore."  Ron swallowed.  "He killed him.  The battle was short.  The Dark One was too powerful for little old Dumbledore."  His features twisted into a bitter, sardonic smile.  "Then…the Master came for me."  He started fumbling with the frayed edges of his grey, rotting robes distractedly, trying to regain some composure.  When he did, he sucked in a deep, shuddering breath.  "He found that I had talent, a talent that I didn't know I possessed."  Ron didn't seem prolonged to elaborate on the subject, however.  He lapsed into a brooding silence.  Harry realised that he was probably musing over the bane of his existence, the reason for living.  And he knew that he wouldn't find it here.  Not in this barren wasteland, where his dreams were diminished, all because there was no one to have saved him from something he was…a slave of darkness.  

"What was the talent," Harry asked hoarsely, making the near silent inquiry more of a statement than a question.  Ron looked up at him quickly, giving him a vague piercing stare; as if he thought the young emerald-eyed wizard was being nosy.  He didn't seem to mind too much, however, when he answered the said question.

"Soul-searching," Ron answered bluntly.  Harry noticed that his hands were clenching and unclenching on the fabric of his robes again, as if he were trying to channel all of his frustrated anger into it.  It seemed that he gave up, however, when he released the cloth and looked up.  Ron must have noticed Harry's rather confused expression, because he added, "It's like a truth spell.  I can see people's memories, so I can see who they are…what their intentions are…"  He stopped, and swallowed hard.  The recollections were obviously painful for him.  He cleared his throat.  "Can I get you something?" he asked gruffly, perceptibly not used to offering anything to anyone.  Harry was about to object—how could he get him anything when locked in a cell?—when Ron waved his hand and a silver jug, along with two silver goblets, appeared out of nowhere.

Ron was apparently enjoying the shocked look on Harry's face, and smugly waved his hand again; one of the goblets made its way through the bars of his cell and clunked on the floor next to him.  Harry peered dubiously into the goblet, and was surprised to discover that the water that it held was clear, and obviously cool: condensation was already forming on the cup.  Gingerly, he picked up the goblet and lifted it to his lips.  The water glided down his throat, cooler and clearer than anything he had ever tasted.  He drank eagerly, only just realising how thirsty he had become.

"How did you do that?" Harry asked after draining the goblet and setting it back down.  Ron's smug look vanished.

"That…well…"  He fidgeted uncomfortably and rubbed the side of his neck.  Harry noticed a swollen red mark there, but was too interested in Ron's answer to ask about it.

"Well, you see, now that the Dark Lord has the Philosopher's Stone…he managed to give it extra powers, other than prolonging his life and making him the richest bastard in the world."  Ron glanced up at Harry balefully and continued, "He bewitched it to answer his every whim, and his…servants'…as well.  I could wish up any kind of food or drink you could imagine.  He does this," he added, "to keep us quiet, I think.  Kind of a bribe, if you will…"  He subsided into a thoughtful silence.

Harry's mind buzzed frantically as he tried to sort out all this newfound information.  Dumbledore and Hermione were dead.  Voldemort—he assumed that was who Ron was referring to when he said the Dark Lord—had taken the Philosopher's Stone.  And Ron…Ron was little more than a slave.  Harry wondered if the Ron he had known possessed a power like this one did. 

Harry finally managed to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth to ask another question.

"What…where did you get that red mark on your neck from?"  He asked it carefully, trying not to sound too nosy.  And to his surprise, Ron's face flushed a dull, sickly red.  It looked as if he was choking on something; that, or he wasn't used to being embarrassed.

"Oh…that…"  He rubbed the mark gingerly, avoiding Harry's gaze.  "Remember how I said…that the Dark Lord kind of bribes his servants?"  Harry nodded.  "Well…"  He squirmed slightly.  "The Dark Lord gave me a mistress."  The flush spread over neck and down his collarbone.  He cleared his throat.  

At that, a loud clanging was heard down the hall.  Ron's flushed face was suddenly sapped of colour.  Harry sat up.

"What?  What is it?" he asked urgently.

Ron began to visibly shake.  He swallowed again.

"They're coming.  We're going to have to do the Soul-Search."

*******

BUM BUM BUUUM!!!  Well…isn't that interesting.  Ron has mystical powers and is being enslaved by Lord Voldemort.  Crysania is being an insufferable bitch.  And Harry's alive when he isn't.  Ah, the wonders of confusing words…it happens to be one of my strong points.  This chap was a bit short, don't you think?  And is it just me, or am I getting a bit repetitive?  *hides shamefacedly*  Gack, that chapter really sucked.  I'll work on it, I haven't been reading as much as I would've liked, so my ideas are being burned away.  Yeah, well, the next one should be longer, and come out faster.  I'm really sorry that took so long; I've had to use all of my creative juices for school…*sigh*  We had two creative writing papers to do in the first week!  Doesn't that suck?  Well, I DID get an exceptionally high grade…*head swells*  And my BITHDAY'S coming up…joy of joys!  *head swells more*  Fourteen…spiffy, high school in a year!  Oh…yeah…well, toodles, all.  Gotta start on chap four…see ya round!  --J


	4. Searching the Soul

Disclaimer:  I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters; I just like to play with them.  Hey, it sure beats the hell out of Barbie dolls. (See "References" at the bottom of the page for more.)

I'm really sorry about the wait.  You know how the life of an aspiring actress can get…And kudos to Esaema for making the connection between _It's a Wonderful Life_ and this.  It's one of my favourite Christmas movies, and I'd been wondering when someone was going to notice that…

Silent Torment

Part IV:

Searching the Soul

Though Harry could hear his heart pounding madly against his chest, the cadence pulse seemed hardly his own.  He listened to its frantic beats as if he were listening to someone else's heart, as clearly as if the tender arms of a lover, not panic's icy claws, were embracing him.  Fear of the unknown began to take its toll as whatever was approaching him and Ron came steadily closer.  If they were dementors—he had assumed that was what Ron had meant by "Creepers"—they were moving awfully noisily in this reality.  Harry's breath became shallow as he saw Ron's face pale further, so his skin resembled the bleached bones of a skull, the skin pulled taut over his high cheekbones, his icy blue eyes looming out of the darkness.  Harry leaned against the cold, hard stonewall, closing his eyes and dreaming of home, when a highly unwelcome voice penetrated his hazy mind.

"Harry, dear, I hardly think this is the time for a nap." 

He blearily opened his eyes and gazed dolefully at Crysania, who was sitting perched upon an extravagant red silk ottoman, with this time a peculiarly thick black drink in her long, elegant grasp.  Indeed, Harry wondered if it wasn't tar—or (his mind was working in rather pessimistic ways at this time) old blood.  She was wearing a look on her face that suggested she were a professor teaching class and Harry was an inattentive student she was rebuking.  

Harry studied her face more closely; noticing that it was of a cold, atrociously perfect beauty, more refined than before.  Her bloodless lips and high cheekbones were thrown into sharp contrast by the shadows of the dungeon, the lips curved once again into her usual sardonic, lazy smile.  She resembled marble even more vividly than before, but with one exception this time—marble could be warmed by the sun.

A sickly green light flared suddenly behind him, and an unexpected chill dashed up his spine.  He felt the icy cold the dementors generated wrap over him, and retched involuntarily, his whole body weakening from exhaustion and fear.  Without needing to turn around, he sensed the loathsome creatures right outside his cell, the green light of what was presumably a lantern one of them held shining brightly in the dreary darkness.  Harry heard a frantic squeaking and felt something small dash across the stone floor, fleeing the approaching light and darkness.  The cold was so penetrating, so all-consuming, that Harry could barely register the fact that the iron-barred door that was his only escape was creaking open.  His whole body had gone entirely numb; he could not feel one of the dementors reach down and seize his arm.  Then another joined it, and together, they dragged him out of the cell.

A dull thud echoed throughout the dungeon, followed by a harsh oath.  It appeared that one of the dementors had caught Ron on one of the bars and Ron had retaliated.  

"Be careful, boys, we don't want him spoiled," a deep, lazy voice drawled.  Harry thought he recognised it, but was too shattered to take the time to figure out who it was.  Unable to support his own weight, he collapsed on the floor as the dementors' rotted grip relaxed slightly.  He gasped agonizingly when a booted toe made sharp contact with his side.  Cruel, amused chuckling sounded from the man above him.

"This one doesn't look very strong—we might have to put him down.  You needn't take much care with him; there are others that will be more suitable for his Highness."  There was satisfaction in the voice now, and an annoying sensation gnawed at the back of Harry's brain.  He knew that voice…it seemed a little more than vaguely familiar to him…

"Come, gentlemen.  The Master is waiting."

*******

Harry had been subject to several rude awakenings in his life.  There had been countless times at the Dursleys' when Dudley had dropped something live and crawly on his chest—his pet scorpion, for example.  Then there were the times when Harry had woken up to find Dobby staring down at him.  But this topped them all.

"Is he alive, Master?  Can we keep him?"

At first, Harry thought he was dreaming, but that possibility was instantly squashed when he felt a stinging pain on the side of his neck.  He opened his eyes.  Two large, luminous eyes stared back.  He blinked.  So did they.  There was loud giggling, and the same voice as before said, "Ooo!  He's funny!"  Then, suddenly, he felt a hand snaking under his shirt, and another heading for his belt buckle.  He gasped and sat up, slapping the hands away as he did.  The giggling erupted again from all sides.

"Ladies, please…give him a moment to catch his breath."

Harry finally managed to catch a glimpse of what was happening through the peculiar mist that surrounded him.  Silver flashed in complete disorder, the giggling more persistent than ever.  But wait, Harry thought, squinting.  That was no mist—

"Voldemort."

Harry whipped around to see Ron standing beside him, glaring through what Harry had thought at first was merely mist.

"Call you pets off him.  It's tacky the way they're fondling him."

Instantly, the swirling mist dispersed, and instead transformed into dozens of very tall, very beautiful women.  

Veela.

"You should know better than to address me directly by now, boy," said a soft voice that caused the darkness itself to quiver with fear.  It didn't have much of an effect on Ron, however, who was standing straight and tall, his jaw set in a rigid line.  There was an air of dignity that surrounded him like an impenetrable aura that neither harsh words nor powerful magic could diffuse.  Then Harry noticed the speaker of the soft voice, and the room swam before his eyes.

Behind the shimmering wall of veela, Harry saw at first nothing but shadow, a hidden darkness that his eyes struggled fruitlessly to see through.  Then he saw something stir.  A pair of eyes.  Red eyes, like livid rubies glowing from out of the gloom.  Then he was able to discern a large golden throne upon which a figure sat, all in black.  Harry's insides turned to ice as the voice uttered a single word.

"_Crucio!_" 

The jet of light illuminated the perpetual night, and for a moment Harry could see who sat in the golden chair.  The next he wished he hadn't.

The curse struck Ron squarely in the chest, and he doubled over on his hands and knees, his body wracked with pain.  He let out only one small cry, and the curse was lifted.  Ron raised his head slowly and glared balefully at the Dark Lord, his teeth bared.

"Come now, boy.  The necessities must be observed," Voldemort said softly.  He leaned forward, his hands folded in front of him, and Harry saw him clearly for the first time.

He looked much the same as he had when Harry last saw him, just last year.  The same white face, red eyes, snakelike nose.  His long hands were like enormous, pale spiders, and had no fingernails.  Upon each skeletal finger rested at least one signet ring.  There was one with a sparkling red "W," another with a sinister green "M," and several others, each with a different letter of the alphabet, and some with symbols that Harry did not recognise.  And above his chair, in pride of the place, was a grisly sign that caused Harry to feel sick all over again.

The Dark Mark.

Harry shivered and realised that the reason why he did was because the dementors had heaved him to his feet again.  He now stood directly before the Dark Lord, and suddenly felt very small and defenceless.  Ron stood next to him, glaring at Voldemort in defiance.  Voldemort snapped his repulsive fingers, and two people appeared next to him.

One of them, Harry was barely surprised to see.  He was a small man with more wrinkles than hair, the little he had sparse and grey.  His small blue eyes were watery, taking everything in warily.  Wormtail.

The next person Harry was more surprised to see.  Tall, thin, malicious, Draco Malfoy stood before them, his pointed face sneering down at the two of them.  He was dressed impeccably in crisp black robes, the fabric glistening as if in an early morning rain.  His silver-blonde hair shone around him like a dark halo, that of a fallen angel.  

"My Lord," he said, lowering his head respectfully.  A jarring sensation shot through Harry as he realised that this was the man who had led the dementors to his and Ron's cells.

"This boy was found outside the castle walls.  We believe he may be a spy sent by the rebels."  Harry felt a ripple of indignation underneath his stark terror.  Who was Malfoy to call him "boy," when they were quite the same age?  Harry tried to glare, but it hurt his face too much.  Probably from the cold.

Voldemort sat forward in his chair.  His blood-red gaze caught the light as he stared down at Harry scornfully, then bent toward Wormtail, and spoke softly into his ear.

Harry edged closer to Ron, making sure Voldemort didn't see.

"What's up with Malfoy?" he asked in a whisper, hoping Malfoy wouldn't hear.

Ron blinked and gave Harry a surprised look.  He must have thought better than to ask, because he merely said out of the corner of his mouth, "He's kinda Voldemort's right-hand Death Eater.  'Torture some innocents, kill the rebels, blah blah blah I'm so stuffy give me a scone.'"  He said this with dry amusement, his eyes glittering as he stared at Draco.  "That bastard thinks he's cream of the crop, when everyone else knows Voldemort's just been using him.  The Dark Lord gives him a new mistress every week, so as long as Blondie over there is getting laid, he's quiet."  Voldemort looked up at this point, so Ron stopped abruptly and moved away from Harry.  The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes at the pair of them and motioned to the dementors.  In one swift movement, the ill-fated creatures swept Harry up and dragged him to the wall, where, now that he could see through the shadows, he could see a pair of tarnished, silver shackles dangling.  He struggled, not knowing what was coming, but instantly the dementors' draining powers took over.  They turned him around and shoved him against the wall, the breath pulling out of him as if by a vacuum.  The next thing he knew, his hands were fastened securely above his head.  He sucked in a long breath as the dementors moved away.

This is it, Harry thought, closing his eyes as fear clenched his stomach.  They're going to kill me.  I wish I had been able to tell Hermione…

But he started when he heard footsteps above him.  He looked up, surprised.  Ron stood in front of him, looking down at him sadly.  He glanced back at Voldemort with a glare that could have wilted flowers, and Voldemort snapped, "Get on with it, boy."  Ron's shoulders slumped, and he raised his quivering left hand and placed it over Harry's heart.

For a moment, nothing happened.  Ron stared at Harry, his mirror-like eyes wide with as much sympathy as he could muster.  Then suddenly, Harry's mind exploded in a whirlwind of colour.

It was as if he had been pitched back in time.  His entire life flashed before his eyes, starting with the very beginning, things that he had never known.  He saw his mother, with her red hair and bright green eyes, gazing happily down at him where he lay.  His father and his shaggy black hair, with his arm wrapped lovingly around his wife.  High-pitched, evil laughter, his parents turning, James dashing from the room….  Brilliant green light, his mother screaming, his father dying… 

Then he saw himself getting beaten up by Dudley, or getting flogged by Uncle Vernon.  Getting teased by the other kids at school…

Finally, he came to the moment when he was invited to Hogwarts.  Everything from then on was a blur.  He vaguely saw Sirius, then Cedric dying, and then Ginny…

As suddenly as it began, it ended.  The past folded back into the present like the petals of a flower, closing up the memories that Harry had struggled to forget.

He felt Ron pull his hand back, and he looked up.  Ron was staggering where he stood, clutching his left hand as if it pained him.  Then, he collapsed.

Harry sat there, as weak and exhausted as if he had sprinted around the world and back.  The room swam before his eyes, and once again, darkness claimed him.

***

It could have been anywhere from ten seconds to ten days for all Harry had known.  All he could tell was that the moment he opened his eyes, his head detonated with pain.  He moaned and covered his face with his hands, then heard the only voice that could make his pain worse tenfold.  

"Harry, Harry, Harry.  What on earth are you doing?"

Harry gritted his teeth against the agony and frustration that was coursing through him.  He clenched his hands so hard that his nails dug into his palms and lifted his head.  The room swam before his eyes before they focused on Crysania.

She was resplendent in her white robes, perched gracefully upon a chair swathed in a soft red fabric.  She yawned and stretched, grinning at Harry's menacing expression.

Harry called her a name that he wasn't even aware he knew.  Crysania's smile widened.

"Manners, Harry, dear.  Wouldn't want your friend to hear you saying these things, now, would you?"

Harry blinked and looked around.  He was back in his cell, with Ron in the one across from him.  He was out cold.

"Looks like all your bad memories drained him," Crysania sighed.  "Hit him hard, they did."  She shook her head.

"My memories?"  Harry looked up.  "What do you mean, my memories?"

Crysania merely pressed her lips together in a smile.  "Why don't you ask him?" she said simply.

"But he's—" Harry began impatiently, but was interrupted by a low moan.  He glanced back at Ron, who was stirring fretfully.  His eyelids parted slowly, letting blue shine dully through them.

"Can't a guy get any sleep around here?" he muttered drowsily, shaking his head from side to side.  "Oh.  That friend of yours there again?"

Harry opened his mouth, about to speak, but footsteps interrupted him.  He silently shrank back into the shadows, hearing something skitter across the floor, noticing how Crysania glowed with a strange light as the green lantern once again shed its grisly light upon the walls.  Ron's eyes narrowed.

"There's more than one way to skin a cat," a voice rumbled silkily, apparently talking to the dementors.  "And I happen to know that factually that's true."

The footsteps came to a halt outside his cell.  Harry looked up, and almost cried out.  

It was Severus Snape.

******

NOOOOOOO!!!  *gasps*  Well, what do you think?  I wasn't quite sure if Snape would go right to the dark side or not, but maybe.  And Crissy, I don't care if you're mortally pissed at me now because of this, but I think it could happen.  For those of you who are curious to my reasonings about anything from the existence of Harry's parents to Snape's switching teams (and no, I don't mean turning gay), just email me.  

**References:**

Yes, the idea of Harry seeing life as it would be without him is from _It's a Wonderful Life._  What can I say, I love the movie.  

"There's more than one way to skin a cat. And I happen to know that factually that's true." 

--Mayor Wilkins, Buffy the Vampire Slayer

"…blah blah blah I'm so stuffy give me a scone."

I don't know who said that; all I know is that it's from Buffy.  *shrugs*  Hey, I tried.

Crysania is from the Dragonlance saga, the Legends.  I used part of a quote to describe her:  "She might have been made of marble…with one difference: marble could be warmed by the sun."  It was said by Astinus in _Time of the Twins_.  Just to let you know, that is not her real personality.  I just took her name and appearance.  Thank you Margaret Weis!

The Soul-search is based on the Truth-Search, from…ah, either _Dragons of a Fallen Sun _or _Dragons of a Lost Star_, both of the War of the Souls trilogy in, of course, the Dragonlance saga.  Can't remember which, sorry!

I think that's all; if you guys come up with anymore, just let me know.  Toodles!  (And for those of you who have never read the Dragonlance books, you don't know what you're missing!  The first one is _Dragons of Autumn Twilight, _by the way…*grin*)


	5. Angel of Darkness

Eheh…I know, I know, I promised this one would come out sooner…  *sigh* Uhg, honestly, graduation speeches, and it's only eighth grade, folks!  Really, I would have worked on this more, if only I _didn't _get picked to give a speech…aanyway…. This is probably the best chapter yet, in my opinion.  I've started off with a different style than before, so I hope this satisfies all of your Harry Potter needs until next month!!  *cheers*  Yippie!  Darn, I only hope it doesn't mess up all of my plans…damn.  I'm gonna wanna do a whole new fic after the fifth one!  Jeez…I better hurry up with this one…which gives me a _really _good idea…Hey, how many of you wanna get a bet started?  How many of you think that Ginny will die, huh?  I _so know _she will!  And also, Ron and Hermione are _so _going to get together!  And Mrs. Figg will _so _be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.  And I'll bet you_ anything _that Crookshanks is one of her cats!  Bwa ha!  Oo;;;  Well, anyway…enjoy!

Chapter summary:  Shocking revelations, a bit of a back-story, some foreshadowing, and even some Crissy and Alex.  More humor, hooray!  A hint of romance, too, but no actual snogging.  Sorry, you'll just have to wait until…uh, next chapter probably, which means not until, oh, a few more months, judging by how long it took me to get THIS out…-.-;;;  But, school's over, so I'll be writing as much as I can, I promise!

Silent Torment

Part V:

Angel of Darkness

She hated the sun.  Its light was always too hot in the summer, too cold in the winter.  The rays it generated seemed like they were always mocking her with their cheerfulness.  It was as if they were trying to pry into her life, to barge into the barriers that she had so carefully erected around her soul.

Perhaps this was why she had chosen a life of darkness.

She loved the darkness.  It was warm, comforting, safe, never changing.  The moon was so peaceful, waiting a safe distance away as if knowing not to come too close.  It was everything she needed to escape. 

The only way for her to cope with this dreadful curse of sunlight, she thought, was for her to show the world the darkness that existed.  Consequently, when he came to her, she needed very little persuasion.

Thus she became the angel of darkness.

How did she become the angel of darkness, you ask?  Well that is quite an interesting story, and a long one, at that.  Would you like to hear the story?  This is not a story for the faint of heart, I must warn you.  I advise you to leave and never come back.  No?  You still want to hear it?  Well, my dear friend, curiosity killed the cat, remember.  But satisfaction brought it back, you say?  Very well then.  You may want a blanket, in case the story becomes too gruesome for you delicate ears.  Your hands may become cold, your heartbeat still.  Still here, are you?  Well, then, don't say I didn't warn you.  I suppose it all began, one day, very long ago…

****

It was one of those nights at Hogwarts when everyone was restlessly roving the castle, much to Filch's displeasure, Hermione noted as she hurried past the disgruntled caretaker's glare and into the library.

One quick glance around the crowded room told her that Harry was not there.  She sighed and sat down at a table, opened a book, and began to read.

She hadn't been at it for five minutes when she slammed the book shut in vexation, stood up, and marched over to the bookshelf.  She stared at the titles on the spines without really taking anything in; her eyes felt glazed as they listlessly scanned for an interesting read.  Then a hand touched her shoulder.

She started and turned around, to find herself face to face with Draco Malfoy.  She wasn't sure 

whether to be pleased or annoyed as his fluid eyes locked with hers.  She cleared her throat.

"What is it, Malfoy?"

There was a slight pause.  "You're looking for Potter, aren't you?" he said quietly.

"So what if I am?" she snapped, a bit taken aback by his unusual show of interest.

Draco abandoned her cagey approach.  "You might want to try looking somewhere else, like the grounds, or…Cho Chang's bedroom," he finished cunningly.  Hermione shot him an angry glance, but found he was no longer interested in this exchange; his eyes had gone out of focus, and he was staring at someone behind Hermione.  When she turned, she saw that the arrival of Crissy had been the due distraction.  She had sat down at a table near Hermione's and was reading a small, thick book.  The next person that entered Hermione was more surprised to see.  Alex Prelling was making her way to Crissy's table, her hair slightly disheveled from her and Ron's earlier snogging, telling Hermione that she had been away longer than she had thought.  Alex grinned when Crissy looked up and spotted her.  She motioned for her to sit down next to her, which she did, picking up Crissy's book as Crissy began brushing and braiding her best friend's long, dark hair.  Most Slytherins and Gryffindors looked askance of their extremely close friendship, because they had been friends long before their move to Hogwarts; some still maintained that they were in rival houses, however, and therefore should likewise be enemies.  But whatever the general public was saying, they didn't let it influence them in the slightest; friends they had become, and friends they would remain.

Hermione shifted her gaze back to Draco's face; his expression was difficult to read.  He had let fall his protective sentinel that he had placed around his soul, leaving it raw and exposed.  His eyes held some sort of longing and desire as he looked at Crissy, but at the same time he looked lost, sad.

"Do you love her?" Hermione asked him softly.  But almost immediately she wished she hadn't, because when he flicked his eyes toward her, instantly his shielding barriers sprang up again, his eyes mirror-like once more, betraying no inner emotion whatsoever, giving him the outward appearance of being cool and indifferent.  A wan smile touched his lips.  He shrugged sophisticatedly.

"Does it really matter?" he asked her evenly.  He looked at her down his nose in a disdainful way, then walked off. 

_Damn him_, she thought, watching him go, _and damn his cryptic answers._

****

Harry stared at Snape in astonishment.  This was not the Professor Snape that he knew, but he was beginning to think that he would never find anyone the way he had left them.  This Professor Snape had not even the slightest air of a professor.  More like a trained Hit Wizard for the Ministry of Magic.  He was dressed in flowing black satin robes and snakeskin boots, complete with steel toes.  His complexion was so fair that he resembled a vampire.  His hair was not long and greasy, but very short and slicked back in a manner like that of Malfoy's.  His face was twisted in a much different expression: sad, aloof.  Across his forehead was a silver-white band, a scar apparently won when he was struck by a curse.

"Come here, boy," he said softly, beckoning Harry closer.  The tone of his voice was much different as well; indeed, it was less of a tone but more like a hoarse grunt.  It told of someone who was tired of everything, of living in general.  

Harry moved slowly forward, apprehension settling once again in his stomach.  When he did, he saw Snape's eyes for the first time.  And what he saw frightened him.  

The man's eyes were not the eyes of the Snape back home.  These were the eyes of someone much older, of someone who had grown up having to fight to stay alive, of someone who had seen too much in a small amount of time.  But that was not what had frightened Harry.  What frightened him was that his eyes were not normal eyes.  One was not an eye at all, merely a stretch of silvery skin.  The other, however, was small and beady, almost black.

Snape reached into the folds of his neat robes and pulled out a small crystal bottle.  It was filled with a clear liquid.  Harry recognized it as Veritaserum, and felt another pang of anxiety.  Without missing a beat, Snape opened the door to Harry's cell and crouched down.

"I see my appearance frightens you," he commented without emotion, noticing Harry staring at him.  "But rest assured, it will not be harmful lest you provoke it."  Harry wasn't quite sure what he meant by it, so he remained silent.

"Do you know what this is?" Snape asked softly, holding the crystal bottle in front of Harry's face.  Harry was about to reply when Ron interrupted loudly.

"Oh, for God's sake, he's been through enough!  Just let him alone!"

Snape's eyes flashed as he rounded on him, though Ron barely blinked.  The dementors behind him moved towards Ron's cell menacingly, but Snape waved them off.  "Leave us," he snapped, still glaring at Ron.

The dementors skulked out, and most of the cold left with them.  Snape turned back to Harry.

"It's a Veritaserum," Harry said quietly.  Snape looked somewhat surprised.  He recovered quickly and magicked a silver goblet into Harry's cell.  Pouring several drops of the potion into the water, he lifted it and handed it to Harry.

"You know what it does, then," Snape ground out.  Harry nodded nervously, taking the goblet.

"Drink," said Snape.  Harry did.

The effect was instantaneous.  Immediately, Harry's head was swimming, his mind blank.  His entire body turned numb; he could not hear, he could not feel.  It felt like being under the Imperius Curse, not being able to think….

_What is your name? _ a soft voice asked.

"Harry James Potter," Harry answered, unable to stop himself.

_How did you come to be here? _ the voice asked.

"A woman brought me…from a different world…"  The words seemed to pour from him, like blood from an opened wound.  There was nothing he could do to prevent himself from answering.  

There was a short pause before another question was asked.

_A different world? _ Now the voice was sharp, less patient than before.

"Yes…Voldemort wasn't powerful, Dumbledore was alive…"

Then came an unexpected question, one that almost shook Harry from his dream-like state:

_Do you follow Voldemort?_

Though he was dazed, he let out an emphatic, "NO!" that caused the spell to lift.  It was like being suddenly dashed with cold water….He blinked, and saw Snape staring at him with a peculiar expression.  Ron's mouth was hanging open as if on hinges.

"I see you can be trusted," Snape remarked abruptly.  Then he pulled out a long, black wand from a deep pocket within his robes and whispered an incantation that Harry had never heard before.  Suddenly, the room began to glow with a strange amber hue, and the dripping noise of the water on the walls vanished; the only thing he could hear was breathing.  

He looked up at Snape, who was looking down at Harry with a serious expression.

"There is a story I must tell you, but first you must swear to not divulge it to anyone," he said softly.  He simply stared at Harry, who got the idea and nodded.

"Years ago, Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, was the most powerful wizard in the world.  He defeated the Dark wizard Grindlewald in 1945, and discovered several new uses for dragon's blood.  He worked alongside Nicolas Flamel, who was the only known owner of a Philosopher's Stone at the time.

"But as time wore on, so did he; his powers were weakening, and another, more powerful wizard rose.  At first he went by the name Tom Riddle.  But he is now known as Lord Voldemort.  You know this, of course.  Here, however, Voldemort defeated Dumbledore quite easily; families fell before his feet, worshipping him like a god, praising him, begging him for mercy…the school was torn down and rebuilt in Voldemort's vision; he began seeking children with unusual powers…such as the Soul-Search, as you saw.  These children were taken from their families, a ransom, in a way, to keep their families in line.  As long as Mr. Weasley is here, for example, his family must remain faithful to the Dark Lord, or else he dies.

"Before, I mentioned that at the time, Nicolas Flamel was the only known owner of a Philosopher's Stone.  Flamel is dead.  His Stone is in possession of Voldemort.  With it, Voldemort lives forever, and he can conjure anything at a whim.  The only way to destroy him is by destroying the Stone.  But Voldemort has many spies, and every attempt made thus far has been in vain.

"For many years now, there has been a secret rebellion to vanquish the Dark Lord; however, we have yet to succeed.  I am one of the leaders of this revolt.  The agents you need to be wary of, however, are Wormtail, Voldemort's spy; young Master Malfoy and his several mistresses; and many others.  Mr. Weasley, I assume, will guide you in avoiding these enemies.  Beware, for Wormtail has the power of turning into a rat, and may listen in on conversations between the two of you; therefore, you must not talk of the plan.  We will be in touch."

With that, Snape slammed the cell door shut.  

"_Finite incantatum,_" he murmured, and the amber glow of the room disappeared.  The steady dripping of the liquid on the walls returned; it seemed to hammer on the stone like rocks rather than water after the smothering silence of the spell.  Snape waved his wand again, and the dementors came sweeping back into the room, the torches dimming, the cold suffocating.  After one brief nod from Snape, they swept out of the chamber and vanished from sight into the darkness beyond.

****

"So tell me exactly how you got the detention again?" Alex asked Crissy in amusement.

"Well," Crissy replied huffily, "I knocked over my cauldron, right?  So Snape asked me what I had to say for myself.  All I said was 'Surfs up, Sir!'  I guess he doesn't have much of a sense of humor…he never liked me very much, either."

Alex snorted.  "That couldn't have anything to do with the time you put a pile of ferret dung on his desk with a card that said, 'Love from Draco Malfoy', could it?"

Crissy appeared unfazed.  She blinked innocently.  "Oh, that?  Well, that was just killing off two birds with one stone.  I hate Snape, and Draco and I were fighting at the time, remember?  And we always play dirty while we're fighting…"

Hermione rolled her eyes as she walked past their table.  Those two were an interesting pair.  Crissy was constantly getting into trouble, and Alex was constantly working to keep her out of trouble.

Hermione had long since given up on pursuing an interesting read ever since Malfoy had turned up to taunt her.  What she really needed now was to find Ron, or someone who would know where Harry was.  She sighed, rubbing her hands over her eyes in a vain attempt to rid herself of the tiredness that was creeping over her.  She knew Harry wanted to be left alone, but she couldn't shake this lingering feeling that that wasn't the best thing for him at the moment.  How she knew, she could not tell.  Maybe she should just go find Ron…

****

The sunlight bore down upon her moon-pale skin.  She wrinkled her nose in displeasure as it beat on her relentlessly, and wished it would simply melt away into blessed darkness.  _Why, _she thought sullenly, _must he make us go outside?_

The Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Professor Spock, was leading them out into the warm sunshine on the first day of class.  The girl rolled her eyes as she watched the group of goody-goody Gryffindor girls squeal in adoration at the sight of the young, handsome man that would be teaching them this year.  She shook her head.  Among them was a very pretty redhead that she already despised, not because she knew her personally, but because she was…_jealous_.  Jealous of the way her smile dimpled and grabbed the attention of boys without even seeming to try, or her blazing green eyes that were always sparkling with laughter.  Jealous of the way she could always get people talking, how she could brighten up a rainy day just by making an appearance.  It just wasn't _fair._

Crysania could feel the heat of an unexplainable anger tinge the tips of her cheekbones.  She looked the other way, but was only met with the sight of a cluster of boys who were looking slightly putout that they weren't receiving as much attention as they normally would.  _Typical, _Crysania thought darkly, _Just typical of those big-headed Gryffindors…_

A tap on her shoulder made her spin around.  A bashful-looking Ravenclaw boy was toeing the ground nervously.  She raised her eyebrow at him.

"What do you want?" she snapped.  The boy backed away, running his hand nervously through his curly brown hair.

"Oh…I—was—wondering…doyouwanttogotoHogsmeadewithmeSaturday?" he said in a rush, his cheeks turning bright red.

Crysania blinked.  She could not remember last time she had been asked on a date, and had given up on ever hoping to be asked.  She stared at the boy, studying him…he wasn't that bad looking, and she had heard several girls giggling and pointing his way, only to hide their faces when he looked at them.  She smiled inwardly.  What a triumph over those Gryffindor girls this would be.

"What's your name?" she asked sweetly, lowering her eyes so she could look at him through her long eyelashes.  

"Edmund," he said, looking immensely relieved.  "So—I'll meet you in the common room?  After dinner?"

"Uh…of course."  She smiled at him coyly, and he walked away.

The smile dropped from her face as quickly as an anchor, as if it was painful for her to hold it in place.  She shook her head.

This was going to be another long year.

***

Okay, that was dumb.  But I just needed something at the end to keep you guys thinking, "Wait a second!  What happens now?"  But if you're not, that's okay too, cuz I think I'm losing my writing talent.  Poetry is still going strong, but…well, maybe it's because I haven't read the books in so long.  *sighs*  Well, now that book five is coming out in a matter of weeks, I should have more ideas…I just hope that it doesn't interfere with my plans…but anyway, if, a few weeks after book five comes out and I decide to update, and something doesn't make sense with the prequel, just…go with it, pretend like it _does _make sense…yeah.  I wasn't planning on letting this take so long.  Special thanks to Erin for getting me back on my feet.  And thanks for that wonderful professor name…Spock.  Love it.  Toodles, all, and I will be working double time.  No more school!  Hooray!  Now, review, people!  If you don't, I may be forced to turn this into a slash fic…Ron/Harry style!  *gasps*  E-gads, no!  Well, now I shall hand it over to the Dancing Noid!  Da na na!!!!

Noid:  *dances*  Review, dammit!  Or I shall attack you with my Floppy Ears of Death™!  MUAHAHAHAHA!!…

Audience: …

….Yeah.  Oo;  Don't ask.  *coughs*  REVIEW!!


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